


The First Time

by sweetrupturedlight



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1790683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetrupturedlight/pseuds/sweetrupturedlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Octavia visits Lincoln in his cave and realises that her feelings run a lot deeper than she could ever have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Time

_The First Time_

Octavia Blake had lived her entire life in a metal cage – quite literally. Since she was old enough to comprehend her surroundings, she became frustratingly accustomed to dull greys illuminated only by subdued fluorescents. Perhaps this was why she'd never missed an opportunity to explore the woods surrounding their makeshift encampment. Since calling Earth home, and despite the ever present danger, the exhilaration of being free of walls and enclosed spaces surpassed any fear she might have had of being caught.

Lincoln had later admitted that he'd been watching them, watching _her_ , ever since the hundred had come back to earth. He had observed her routes and destinations, knew her routine before she had realized it to be so. So when she took her nightly sprint through the forest a week after she had helped him escape the drop ship, she was only slightly surprised to see the large white orchids that lay dispersed scantily across the meandering path. A few yards on, the orchids veered off the path and up a steep incline before leveling out on the mountainous terrain. Dense foliage covered the ground, but the white orbs, luminescent in the gleam of night, lit her way.

The first time she arrived at the entrance to his cave, Lincoln had been waiting outside. He'd stood in the shadows, but eventually stepped out into the glimmer of moonlight. He wore nothing but leather trousers, the moonlight kissing his uncovered skin. They'd stood watching each other for a long while, each assessing whether the magnetic pull between them was sheer madness and worth the danger it presented to both of them if they were caught. Eventually, his hand reached for hers and Octavia placed hers into his. Whatever the risk, she couldn't have turned from him then if her life depended on it.

"Are you alright? I was worried that something might've happened... I mean... when I didn't hear from you... not that you would be able to send me mail..." Octavia sighed. She sounded like a rambling idiot. Finally, she just said, "I'm glad you're ok."

His home was spacious, lit by a roaring fire and nothing else. Cosy, she guessed, would be the most appropriate term. Cosy, but rustic, although, not crudely so. She would come to learn that Lincoln had an artist's eye. His sketches were some of the most beautiful she had ever seen, despite their representation on the pages of uneven parchment or on the walls of the cave.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked. They stared at each other across the cavernous space, each unable to look anywhere else. She had never experienced such an intense pull towards another human being. She loved her brother, felt comforted by his presence, even when they were fighting, but this need to be with the grounder, be around him, within his orbit, his unique gravity pulling her recklessly closer spelled an inevitable collision – one she wasn't sure she wanted to stop.

He hesitated a moment before replying. "I… my people do not look kindly on yours."

"That's a bit of an understatement, wouldn't you say?" she teased.

A small smile touched the corners of his lips, briefly showing signs of attractive lines around his mouth. Butterflies fluttered their wings against the inside of her belly as the intangible seduction of chemistry wound its magic around them. Laugh lines were normally indicative of someone who smiled or laughed often, the lines creasing the skin into the familiar. Octavia could not imagine his stern features relaxing into a smile. Suddenly a large part of her wanted badly to know what he would look like.

"To show you that not all my people need to be feared. You don't need to fear me."

"I know that already."

Without thought she stepped closer, so close in fact, that she only realized exactly what she was doing when her hand reached out to trace his strong jawline. He stood still as a statue, his dark eyes fixed on her face. She felt her body flush at the intensity of his heated gaze.

"…besides," she continued. "We haven't exactly been a picnic either. There's a lot of blame to go around… for both sides."

He nodded slightly, his eyes now following her roving hands. He did not look like any other man she had ever met. Granted, her experience with the opposite sex was limited to very few. He was tanned; his skin darkened no doubt from hours in the sun. She envied that, the fact that he had been born with the sun as his blazing protector. She had known nothing but artificial lighting and the isolating, cold, bleak loneliness of space.

His skin was marred with scars, but despite that, it was surprisingly smooth and hot to her touch. Her hands traced of their own accord, moving across his wide forehead before brushing across his shaven head. She noticed his gaze stutter, his eyes lose some of their focus as his lids shut momentarily, his throat contracting rhythmically as her hands continued their exploration.

His body was all toughened muscle, his shoulders and arms hard and defined. His body – what she could see of it – was also free of hair, his chest smooth, the muscles distinct. Her eyes travelled downwards, noting the sculptured abdominal muscles, his trousers sitting low on his narrowed hips. _Dear God, but he was an amazing specimen. And hot as hell._ Dark tattoos adorned his neck, chest, arms and back. While initially they had served as confirmation of his race's brutality, now, standing before him, his face clear from bruises, swollen skin and dried blood, those inked markings were beautiful with the firelight dancing off them.

"Why have you done this to your body?" She moved around him, tracing the dark arrows that ran down the length of his spine and disappeared into his pants. She swallowed reflexively a few times, her throat dry, her hands itching to follow the path.

"You find them repulsive?" His tone was hard, defiantly proud, and she moved back around to face him, so her eyes could meet his.

"No. _No_ ," she defended vehemently. "Its just, where I come from, I've never really seen anything like it." She gave him an encouraging smile, hoping to coax one in return. "They are beautiful."

"They're the markings of war. From the moment we begin training, each rite of passage is inked onto our skin. When we die, we commit our bodies, our souls and our stories to the grave."

She couldn't help but notice the pride with which he spoke. His numerous markings clearly meant that he would be formidable in combat. This she could believe, having seen him in action.

Her head tilted to the side as she observed him. He wasn't traditionally handsome, she supposed. Most of her kind would likely brand him barbaric. His strong jaw and high forehead was complimented by a large nose, slightly crooked. He had had it broken more than once she was sure.

Octavia leaned in, stepping onto her toes in order to gain some height. Next to him, it wasn't much. He was impossibly tall. She placed a soft kiss on the top of his nose. He'd stood still throughout her ministrations. Now though, she could see that this contact had startled him.

"It's a sign of affection," she clarified.

"Affection…" Arms that had up till then remained at his side, moved to her hips, holding her lightly, non-threateningly, but even the light touch ignited her blood. "…for a grounder. I don't think your kind would approve."

She realized she didn't want the light touch, she wanted something more. Octavia pushed even closer then, her courage boosting when she noticed his slight intake of breath. With arms anchored to the broad expanse of his shoulders, her neck craned to look up at him.

"Good thing it's just you and me then."

He made no reply, but his eyes fixed on her in a way that made her flush, sending her stomach muscles into a spasm of longing that even her limited experience recognized as hot desire. His dark orbs radiated heat as he scanned her face, searching for something. If it was consent, she was going to give it to him. In fact, she couldn't remember ever wanting to be _this_ close to anyone in her life.

"Lincoln." The whisper was a question. Octavia licked her lips, trying desperately to get closer.

"Yes, Octavia." The way he said her name sent ripples of goosebumps dancing across her already sensitized skin. She saw his eyes flick to her forearms as they rested close to his shoulders. Even in the dimly lit cavern, she knew he could see the puckered skin.

"Kiss me."

His eyes never left hers as his lips moved in close, giving her every opportunity to change her mind. While she appreciated the sentiment, that was not going to happen. Octavia strained upwards, meeting him halfway, her mouth angled towards his, her tongue slipping past his lips to play with his. Shards of the sharpest, strongest lust hit her straight in the chest; it almost robbed her of breath.

She pushed into him, her hands at his neck, holding on as his fingers began its own exploration of her scorched skin. Everywhere he touched, she burned until she was sure the flames of the fire engulfed them both. Her jacket hit the floor, his hands roaming beneath the hemline of the tank top she wore. She couldn't breathe, but she didn't want to. Her heart raced at a mile a minute, the frantic, sensuous clash of their mouths testament to the passion between them.

But she was human, so was he. And air was a prerequisite for life. Their lips wretched apart, both of them heaving as if they had run a marathon they were both unprepared for.

"Octavia…" Her name again, whispered in a way that no one else had ever done. _Sexy_. So damned sexy. She bit her lip to contain the moan that would have escaped as their foreheads rested close. The space was quiet; all she could hear was the crackling fire and their combined, harsh breathing.

"I don't understand this either you know. I mean, we've just met – practically – and here I am, ready to-" Octavia stopped herself because realization dawned. She _was_ ready. She had never had sex before. Sure, she'd kissed boys, especially since they'd crashed to earth - it had been easy to experiment. But none of them had inspired her to want to give of herself. She was ready to make him her first. Inside, she couldn't conjure any regret for an action she realized would likely be inevitable.

"It's getting late," he whispered. "Your brother might be worried." His words were reluctant and it soothed her ego. This wasn't rejection, it was protection. And they were both treading on very dangerous ground.

Her arms slipped from around his neck and she felt his hands drop reluctantly from her waistline. She could still feel the imprint though, as if he had branded her with his touch.

She turned to leave but he caught her hand and squeezed. The simple action brought tears to her eyes. _What am I doing?_ She turned to look at him but blinked back the tears.

"Will you come tomorrow night? I'll leave flowers to guide you back."

 _I shouldn't. I should say goodbye and not look back. I –_ this _between us – it could get him killed._ The thought sent a ton of lead sinking into the pit of her stomach.

Her eyes met his and she knew that _no_ would never pass her lips. Because this man, this grounder who she hardly knew, had stolen her heart.

Her breath caught when he pulled her in and crashed his lips to hers, the kiss frantic for a moment before it slowed and almost killed her with tenderness.

"I don't understand it either," he whispered. "I just know I have to be near you. I can't explain it."

"I know. I feel it too." Her hand touched his cheek and she placed a soft kiss there. "I have to go." It was ridiculous, but it felt like she left a part of herself with him. At the entrance she sent a small smile in his direction. It was small, but it was filled with promise.

"See you tomorrow," she said before running out into the night.

The air had never smelled as sweet, nor had she felt as alive. And yet, in the pit of her stomach, a dark fear took root, causing dread and anxiety to do battle with the realization that her life would never be the same. No matter what happened, things had irrevocably changed. It was ridiculous, utterly and completely illogical. But she couldn't deny the truth. She was in love with a grounder. She was in love with Lincoln.

And Bellemy would very likely kill him because of it.


	2. The Second Time

_The Second Time_

Escaping unnoticed was surprisingly easy. When the rest of your people were either inspecting weapons or jostling for power – both of which her brother was very skilled at doing – her comings and goings were not monitored as closely as even Bellamy would like. This suited her fine. Besides, she hardly listened to him anyway. Honestly, Octavia pretended to play nice, if only to allow her a few secrets of her own. Deep down she knew Bellamy meant well. The reality was, she wasn't a child any longer and she didn't need his protection. In this case, knowing she was going outside the compound alone would infuriate him. If he knew she was leaving to spend time with Lincoln – a grounder – he would be in a vengeful, murderous rage.

It was almost midnight when she managed to take to the tunnels and exit into the forest. The air was crisp, her breath puffing out in billowing clouds of silvery mist as she climbed the steep embankment. She rushed along, her hair flying behind her like a sable cape as she ran. The orchids lay where he promised, guiding her towards him.

Octavia tried to clamp down on the rolling excitement that built inside of her. She felt like she could burst; this kind of anticipatory happiness unlike anything she had ever felt. The day she had stepped onto earth, _that_ day might rival this one as her happiest. But then, that had been about freedom. This feeling, this was all about the burgeoning exploration of forbidden love.

Hastening her pace, she ducked behind a tree when she heard whispers on the path ahead, crouching low. Her hand reached for the two knives she always carried, gripping them so hard her knuckles turned white. Cursing herself silently for not being careful, she forced herself to slow her erratic breathing, listening closely. If it was grounders, she was as good as dead. But it wasn't. It was a couple of the boys from camp; idiots fooling around in the dark no doubt, attempting to play hero. Now that they were armed with guns, there was a lot of false bravado going around.

Impatiently she waited for them to move along before crossing a little stream and finding the concealed entrance to Lincoln's cave. This time, he wasn't waiting outside. Taking a quick look around to ensure she wasn't followed, she slipped inside, already feeling the spike in temperature. Irrationally, it felt like coming home. She was quiet as she turned the corner, wanting to surprise him. He had his back her, sitting on the ground. She wasn't sure what he was doing, but he was bent over what looked like a bow.

She took a minute, enjoying the view. He wore a sweater this time, covering his tattooed back. She stifled her disappointment. Still, his broad shoulders were impressive, the muscles rippling slightly every time he moved. She crept closer, her hands ready to cover his eyes and whisper, 'guess who' - a game Bellamy used to play with her. But she hadn't gotten far before her breath was knocked out of her in a fast swoosh. One minute she had been about to cover his eyes from behind, the next she had been tossed over his shoulder, pinned to the ground with his body and trapped beneath hands that squeezed her throat.

The instant he realized his mistake, she imagined the litany of words that escaped his lips were close to the typical four letter obscenities she commonly used.

"Octavia, are you alright?" His hands went to her head, his fingers pressing lightly. She winced when he touched a sensitive spot. She hadn't really been hurt, just startled mostly. Her head had landed on his pillow – stuffed, soft animal furs piled high.

"Guess who?" she teased, the laughter dying on her lips when she realized their position. He lay on top of her, his fingers pressing gently to her skull. The problem wasn't her head; it was the heat spreading everywhere they touched – which was mostly from crotch to shoulder. She swallowed, hard.

His eyes were dark, boring into her. He didn't smile back, a frown creasing his forehead. "Why didn't you say something? I could've hurt you." His words were stern, carrying a tone of censure.

"I'm alright. You just knocked the wind out of me." At his heated look, she tried to calm him. "I wanted to surprise you. Guess I have to work on my stealth." The frown on his forehead still hadn't eased, so she reached out and smoothed the creases with her fingers. "You could teach me?"

"Teach you?"

"Yeah, you know. Warriors are stealthy. _You're_ stealthy. Teach me to be a warrior." She was only half serious. But maybe it wasn't such a bad idea.

The corners of his lips turned up slightly, but no sound escaped. She knew he was chuckling though, because his ribcage vibrated against her own. The motion sent a hot arrow of heat into her stomach. Octavia realized she loved the feeling of him on top of her. She felt trapped and caged – _caught_ – but it was not unpleasant. Instead, she felt achy and hot.

"You want me to make you a warrior?" Lincoln shifted slightly, his eyes running from her nose to her navel, then beyond. She shivered, despite the heat of the cave. "We know you need to work on your stealth. Then there's stamina and endurance."

The way he said it made her think of other things that required that too. She must be depraved. Because God knew she had never thought about sex as much as she had since she'd met him. Her head began to throb, but it had nothing to do with the jolt she'd received when she'd landed on the floor.

"Maybe we could take up running." _Is that_ my _voice?_ It sounded… husky.

His lashes were quite long she realized. She watched his eyes travel back up her body until he met hers.

"I can think of some other activities that might be slightly better than running." His head dipped towards hers and her mouth went dry, anticipation making her bones weak.

The sound of a gunshot breaking through the silent night startled them from their magnetic flirtation. Lincoln moved off her body and pulled her to her feet in a single fluid movement. Her head spun a little from the rapid change in orientation. He moved towards the entrance and she reached for his hand.

"I ran into some boys on my way here. They were fooling around I guess. It could be nothing."

He nodded, but reached for his knives and then the bow he had just finished repairing. He slung a sheath of arrows across his back, as well as a long, sharp machete. "Wait here."

"Lincoln-" She began to protest but he cut her short, his muscles tensed. This was the stance and face of the grounder she had initially met. Tension rolled off him in almost tangible waves. She shivered because she sensed the barely subdued violence within him. He shifted from savior to soldier with such ease. She wondered whether she should be more concerned about the fact that the violence surrounding them was something she was becoming accustomed to.

"My people could be out there. If they find you with me, they'll kill you." His words were simple, clipped, _factual_. He must have seen the apprehension in her eyes because his face softened slightly, his tone gentle when he said, "Octavia, please. It's not safe."

He said her name in _that_ way and her throat closed, making it impossible to reply. She nodded and watched him go off into the night, half impressed by his unflinching bravery, but fearful for his safety. Guns were different. On a level playing field, she had no doubt he could defend himself. Against bullets that sailed through the air from long ranges, she wasn't so sure.

Suddenly, the room wasn't warm any longer. She shivered, pulling her jacket closer. She paced, listening for any sound, but it was quiet again. When Lincoln didn't return immediately, she looked around the room, looking for a distraction.

Beside his pallet, she saw a leather-bound book. Curiosity got the better of her and so she sat down on the soft furs and pulled at the thin leather cords that bound the covers together. It wasn't the same book she had seen before. This one was pure art.

Octavia shifted slightly on the covers so that the firelight illuminated the pages. Sketches covered each page, all in dark charcoal, drawn with meticulous attention to detail. Flowers, landscapes, animals and portraits. _Were they friends or members of his family?_ He had the eye of an artist. His work was powerful, raw, but contained a delicate edge, an artist's intuition and feeling. Despite being a warrior capable of violence, he was able to interpret beauty and the variable nuances of emotion. _What a contradiction_ , she thought, because such beauty could only be created by someone who felt things keenly – both life and death.

Octavia, lost in wonder, turned the page and an involuntary gasp slipped past her lips. She turned another page, and then another, and then another. Portraits filled each page. And they were all of her. Some in the forest, day and night, others even within their camp. Had he completed them from memory? Or had he been watching her all this time? And should she be concerned about the fact that she felt very little alarm, only the deepest kind of flattery? His sketches were bold, strong.

"Octavia?" She jerked, startled from her thoughts. Lincoln had returned. His eyes darted to the book in her hand and she felt guilty at being caught going through his belongings.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

He shook his head, removing his weapons before kneeling beside her.

"Was everything alright? The gunshots-"

He rolled his shoulders. "It was as you said. I fired a few arrows. It scared them enough to return to the compound."

This time, there was a definite smile. She narrowed her eyes.

"You enjoyed scaring the daylights out of them, didn't you?"

"Maybe," was all he said. His eyes went back to the book and she remembered she still held it.

She hesitated before asking, "Is this how you see me?"

He frowned and took the book from her, their fingers brushing lightly. She laced her fingers together in her lap to stop herself from reaching out to touch him.

"You're strong and determined, stubborn, brave. A fighter. You're beautiful." His words were simple and they touched her deeply. "Fierce." He barely knew her and yet he saw into her soul.

"My brother has known me all my life and treats me like a child. Bellamy sees me as someone who needs protection. He won't let me live my life."

"He does what a brother must. He wants to keep you safe."

She met his eyes, surprised that he would side with Bellamy. "Protection I have no problem with. Thinking he can make decisions for me, rule my life. I'm not one of his lame groupies. I can take care of myself."

"So I've noticed."

His gaze was dark and intense and this time when his head dipped, there was no shots fired to prevent their lips from meeting. Octavia sighed as warmth flushed through her body. Her hands reached for him, pushing him back until she lay half on top of him, half on the side, her leg pressed between his. His hands travelled under her t-shirt, his fingers dancing across her skin. She moaned when his lips pressed to the delicate skin at the back of her earlobes, nuzzling her face against the whiskers on his cheeks.

Octavia lost all track of time. They kissed, teased, whispered and when his lips pressed to the place where her neck met her shoulder, she sighed. In the glow of firelight, she told him about her childhood, about the arc, about Bellamy. As the embers burned low, he explained his preference for a secluded life, living on the fringe of his tribe, his low, raspy voice hypnotic. When the fire had died out, they were both asleep in each other arms, Octavia feeling safer than ever. Before dawn, she was roused by lips pressed to the pulse at the base of her throat.

"I don't want to go." She heard him chuckle softly in response, lifting his head to look at her. His eyes were warm, the corners of his mouth turned up, his face more relaxed than she had ever seen it.

"I love you." The words were out in a rush before she could stop them.

His smile dimmed slightly and embarrassment made her turn her face away.

"Octavia."

"You don't have to-"

"Shhh." He cupped her face and slowly, deliberately, Lincoln placed a kiss to the tip of her nose. _A sign of affection._ Her heart stuttered against her ribcage when his lips curved into a grin - a beautiful, broad smile that robbed her of the capacity to breathe.

"Let's get you home."


	3. The Third Time

_The Third Time_

“I’m getting better, right?”

Octavia glanced at the tall man walking beside her, noting the way the curves around his mouth deepened when the corners of his lips tilted up slightly. He didn’t smile often, but when he did, it transformed his features from fierce and intense to intense but _sexy_. She liked that.

“You’re weak. But you’re getting stronger.”

She rolled her eyes. “You sure know how to sweet talk the ladies.”

He frowned and continued walking, moderating his long stride to accommodate her. “I didn’t mean to offend you. But your muscle tone is poor. You are quick, agile, but-”

“I get it. I’m still useless.”

For the past two weeks she had convinced him to train her. She would sneak out before midnight and they would work on her endurance and weapon handling. Her muscles ached, but it was good. She knew that her body would have to be physically conditioned to survive their harsh environment – and the inevitable war that seemed to loom ahead of them, clouding their flourishing romance. But they never spoke about the animosity between their people.

“How did you find me? In the forest after I’d knocked my head?” It was something she’d always wondered but forgot to ask.

Beneath their feet, leaves crunched and earth yielded, their arms bumping rhythmically as they walked.

“I’d been watching you,” he said eventually. He looked slightly abashed. “All of you initially. A little later, it became only you.”

Octavia felt warmth spread through her belly, struggling to control a smile. It felt nice to know he’d felt the pull between them even before he knew her. He gifted her with one of his rare smiles and she smiled back, happy to be with him.

He stopped abruptly, listening.

“What?” she whispered, her head looking around, her ears attentive.

“Would you like to go for a swim?”

“What?” It was the last thing she’d expected him to say.

“Swim? I ur… saw you swim that first day.”

“Did you now?” Her lips twitched. “I just thought we might be in mortal danger. I didn’t realise you were trying to get me naked,” she teased. Deep lines curved around his mouth as he smiled, shaking his head at her.

“I don’t know anyone quite like you.” He held out his hand towards her.

“Good.” She took it.

Despite being the early hours of the morning, the forest was dense and humid. They were quiet as they climbed a small ridge and scrambled down the other side. Like an oasis in the desert, a swimming hole appeared. She had never been to this side of the forest.

“Are we safe here? Out in the open I mean?”

He nodded, just jaw tense. “For now.”

Octavia watched as he removed his weapons, dropping them at his feet. They stood at the verge of the water’s edge, the moon providing the only light. The surface looked deep and dark. She peered at it cautiously.

“The last time I went for a swim, I was almost killed.”

He chuckled. “You won’t have that problem here.”

She didn’t bother to ask how he knew that. She trusted him. He would never have brought her here if there were any danger. She became distracted again when he removed his sweater, the copper of his skin glinting as the moonlight struck it. She swallowed when his hands reached for his pants.

“You’re not coming?”

“Sorry.” _Just enjoying the view_. She grinned at him, feeling wicked and carefree. He placed a quick, hard kiss to her lips. Despite the peril they faced almost daily, right that moment, she felt normal. _Maybe this is what a date was like._ Just two people who liked each other, doing something together.

She removed her jacket, a smile still playing on her lips. In the moment it took her to remove her boots, she heard a light splash. Lincoln had dove into the water. She shimmied out of her pants and followed him in, wearing only her black panties and her tank.

The water was cold against her skin and she fought the urge to let out a loud _woop_. She spotted him swimming towards her and met him halfway.

“Too cold?”

“No.” She was already acclimating. “Actually, it feels great. It’s so damned humid here.”

“Come.” He turned and began swimming away from her. She stayed close, curious, but slightly freaked out by the darkened depths. They swam through a narrow chasm, the rocks on either side steep before emerging into a round, shallow pool. Water and plants lapped at the edges, brushing against the sand and stones. The water was waist high and they were able to sit on the rocky bank, their bodies still submerged.

“This is nice.” Octavia swatted at the insect buzzing around her and sighed. “Argh! Except for the frikken bugs. I wish I could bath with soap. I’m beginning to think that the thing I miss most about the arc – well, the _only_ thing I miss about the arc – is the soap.”

Lincoln looked around, clearly trying to locate something.

“What?”

He waded back into the water, leaving her sitting on the bank, and pulled at the leaves of a plant. In the semi-dark, the blue/green leaves looked wavy, about 2ft long, flattened against the ground. He began to dig to the root and she frowned. _What was he doing?_ She was about to ask when he removed the leaves with the bulb still attached and waded back towards her.

Lincoln passed her the sandy, flat leaves. They weren’t exactly pretty.

“Urm… thanks,” she said uncertainly. She didn’t want to offend him, but the orchids were pretty spectacular compared to these. They looked like dead lilies. _Not the most romantic gift._

He began to chuckle. “They’re not flowers, Octavia. It’s soap.”

Ignoring the delicious sensation that always raced up her spine when he said her name, she raised a brow, skeptical. “Soap?”

Lincoln took the root and removed the brown fiber that encased it, revealing a white bulb beneath, the layers similar to that of an onion. “It’s Amole, part of the lily family. The plant itself has many uses. Among them, soap.” He dipped the bulb into the water and then rubbed the residue between his hands. It lathered! Octavia squeaked, clamping her hands to her mouth to stop the sound travelling.

“Omg!” She reached for the bulb. It was sticky to the touch, but foamed into a rich lather.

She launched herself at him and he caught her. “Lincoln! Thank you!”

Her arms went around his neck, their chests pressed together. What started as a hug to say _thank you_ , ended up as something entirely different. The air charged between them and Octavia pressed even closer.

“I can’t believe I’m going to wash myself with soap,” she breathed against his lips. But then their lips brushed. .. then clung.

“I could help you with that.” His lips travelled across her cheekbone, behind her ear and down her neck. Octavia bit her lip, her temperature spiking despite being submerged in water. Her hands skimmed across his broad shoulders, coming to rest on his chest.

Lincoln reached between them, rubbing the bulb between his hands. Their eyes had locked and she was sure steam began to rise around them. He handed her the soapy orb, his hands starting at her fingers, working its way up her elbows in slow, slippery circles. Octavia closed her eyes, her senses overcome with longing. His hands reached for the ends of her tank, sliding underneath, around, cupping her breasts. He squeezed.

Her head swam and she blindly reached for him, their mouths meshing together in moist wonder. She loved kissing him. She loved _everything_ about him. The way he made her feel, his quiet dignity, his fierce protectiveness and those dark, mysterious eyes.

Despite being distracted by mind drugging kisses, Lincoln managed to wash her – everywhere - even her hair. It was the hottest experience of her life.

“I just want to touch you. All the time. Everywhere,” she whispered between fevered kisses. Her legs were wrapped around his waist. Fingers explored, lips teased and teeth scraped deliciously. “Lincoln, I want you.”

“Octavia.” His voice was low, hoarse and the rasp pulled something within her belly. He pressed his face into her neck.

“I’ve never,” she rolled her eyes, embarrassed, annoyed, mostly afraid that her confession might mean he’d stop. “I’ve never been with a boy before.” His arms tightened around her and she felt like she might cry. This wasn’t like her. But she realized, this moment meant everything. This moment in time between them, with _him_.

He raised his head, his dark eyes solemn as it bore into hers. His lips touched hers and she felt tears burn the back of her eyelids. His hands found hers and he brought it to his lips.

Together, they swam back to the bank and shrugged into their clothing. Lincoln slung his weapons around his shoulders before reaching for her. Their lips pressed together, their breathing ragged when they finally gasped for air.

She placed her hand in his but he seemed to change his mind, scooping her up into his arms.

“Well,” she said breathlessly. “This works too.”

She felt his chuckle vibrate through his chest.

“Come,” was all he said, the hairs on her arms raising at the deep tone of his voice. _My first time._ Anticipation made her lightheaded.


	4. The Best Time

 

 

_The Best Time_

There were moments in her life that Octavia could remember with perfect clarity.

The moment she'd realised what bitterness tasted like: the heavy reality that she'd never be able to leave their family's cramped quarters on the arc, that those four grey walls would be all she would ever see.

The moment she'd experienced a glimmer of pure happiness: when Bellamy had gifted her with a stuffed, purple teddy bear she'd later realised he must've stolen from someone as a gift for her fourth birthday.

The moment she'd first tasted true freedom: Stepping off the dropship, her feet planted on terra firma with no guards, no walls, _no rules_.

The moment she'd experienced raw pain: the day her mother had died – _because of her_.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost _smell_ the air, _feel_ what it had felt like: her hope, her joy, her despair; everything almost tangible.

And now there was _this_ moment. She knew this one she'd never forget for as long as she lived, determined to engrave every detail onto her memory.

Lincoln carried her back into his cave, leaving her to start the fire. He shrugged out of his sweater, throwing the wet garment across a table. She removed her jacket, her clothing pretty much soaked too. Octavia removed her boots; her feet glad to be free of them and tried to wring some of the moisture from her hair. But she found herself distracted as she watched him work at kindling the fire, his movements economical, the muscles of his shoulders relaxing and contracting. She bit her lip, her eyes following the dark, arrowed ink running down the length of his spine, disappearing out of sight. Her fingers itched to touch them, to press her lips against those dark etchings. Heat pooled in her belly and her pulse quickened.

_He really was a hunk._

He turned to face her, the wood crackling loudly as the fire sputtered to life. With the flames behind him, his face was in shadow. Momentarily, her nerves took over. Octavia chewed her lip, taking a tentative step towards him because the pull between them was back. _Was there a protocol for being deflowered?_

She reached out and traced the tattoo on his chest, her eyes flicking to his face. Lincoln watched the journey of her finger, holding his breath. He reached for her, pushing her wet hair behind her ears, his hands cupping her face.

"Are you sure about this? There's no rush."

Her hands rested against his waist, her fingers impatient to brush across his warm skin.

Octavia nodded, their foreheads resting together. He had a small smile on his face at her vigorous nod. She should've been embarrassed at her enthusiastic response, but she wasn't. She wanted this more than anything.

"It feels right, being with you. I want this."

Her green eyes blazed as his lips descended. The kiss was soft, playful, and she smiled into it. Her arms wound around him and she reached onto her toes, needing to get closer. He brushed his nose down the length of hers, his teeth scraping along her jawline. She could hear him inhale, breathing her in. Her knees almost buckled then, the breath she hadn't realised she was holding expelled in a passionate rush.

His hands went to the hem of her wet tank and she shivered when he tugged upwards, relieving her of the garment. Automatically, her arms moved to cover her naked chest. Octavia felt a finger under her chin, raising her eyes to his. His eyes were so dark, so penetrating; she felt he was trying to see into her soul.

"You saved me," he whispered and her mouth went dry. "You're beautiful."

"So are you."

The curves around his mouth creased into a smile and she touched his lips, reaching up to kiss him again.

"I like when you smile." She pressed a kiss to the groove beside his mouth and he hugged her close. If she'd had any doubts about her decision, they were eradicated.

Their tongues touched and lust exploded inside of her when his arms encased her frame, effectively trapping her in his embrace. Octavia moaned; her body a livewire of feeling. Everything felt intensified, sensitive and hot.

She had no recollection of how she came to lie on his furs, all her clothing removed. The soft fleece stroked her sensitive skin, the friction heightening her pleasure. His hands and lips travelled everywhere, kneading and nipping. When he moved his weight between her thighs, she opened her eyes, drunk on the magnitude of her feelings for him.

His mouth crashed against hers and she poured everything into the connection. His long fingers caressed her skin and she felt simultaneously desired and cherished. Their lips remained fused as those fingers travelled over her hips, around her behind, and down her leg to her knee. When Lincoln took one of her breasts into his mouth and suckled, she felt the answering pull in her groin. She moaned loudly as her body bowed off the pelts.

"Octavia." His hands reached for hers and their fingers linked above her head. She cradled him between her thighs, their eyes locked, nose-to-nose. She felt him move slowly, pushing into her.

"Relax," he whispered, his lips brushing hers. _She let go._ He thrust and filled her, stretching her untried passage. She felt a sharp pinch and cried out. Lincoln stopped moving, his lips back on hers, his kisses drugging her once more.

He was all the way inside of her, leaving her feeling extraordinarily full. Lincoln moved his arm over her head, his hand tangling in her long hair as it splayed across his bed. With his other hand, he caressed her face, his eyes gazing into hers – dark, passionate and burning with desire. She was cocooned by him as he moved, his hand moving to her hip, setting a delicious pace.

Slowly he withdrew, then surged. Octavia gasped, grasping onto his upper arms. _Oh my god. That felt good_.

The quiet tranquility of the cave was broken only by their mingled breaths and the sputter of the roaring fire as he moved inside of her.

Pleasure radiated out of every pore of her body and built towards an invisible peak. Octavia's hands moved across his shaven head, across his lower back and squeezed his muscled behind. Her breathing accelerated as his steady rhythm pushed her higher. Her eyes squeezed shut as she drowned in sensation, his staccato breaths in harmony with the gentle thrust of his hips.

She cried out and he caught the sound with his lips. Desire, want, need, emotion and pleasure converged as their bodies tensed, their mutual climax hitting them with blissful intensity.

It took a minute for her heart rate to return to normal. Lincoln collapsed on top of her but moved to shift his weight. She protested.

"No, don't." She liked the weighty feeling.

"I'm too heavy," he replied, shifting onto his back but drawing her close. He pulled the fur throw over them, but she pushed it to their waist. With the fire still burning, she was hot and lazy. Her hand moved slowly across his chest, tracing his tattoos.

"Wow," she said into the silence. "I see what the boys are always on about." She laughed softly, a little self-conscious.

"Are you alright?"

She raised herself onto her elbow and in response to his query, dropped a kiss on his lips. Lincoln wasn't saying much and she felt uneasy.

"Was it… I mean, it was my first time so I'm not sure…" She saw him frown and rolled her eyes as a defence mechanism. "It was great – for me. But you…"

"Octavia." Her eyes closed briefly because the baritone of his voice vibrated across his chest. Lust stroked deep inside her. _Again? I'm some kind of nympho freak._

"You're clearly hot and must have all the girls in your tribe swooning for days…"

" _Octavia_." His forehead was marred with a deep frown, his lips a thin line. "I love you."

Her mouth formed a round O, but no sound followed. Hearing him say the words were so much sweeter than anything she'd imagined. Then she smiled broadly.

"Me too." She climbed onto his chest and kissed him deeply, passionately, with all the love she felt inside.

"I have to get you home. It's late." Despite his words, he didn't stop kissing her though. In fact, he rolled her beneath him.

"Na ah," she said, breathless, wrestling him so that she was on top. This time, she wanted to touch, kiss and explore his body. "My turn."

She straddled his hips, her hands braced on his shoulders. Lincoln had a raised brow, but his lips curled into a sexy smile. He lay back, his eyes challenging her.

She leaned down and whispered in his ear, "I love the way you say my name…"

"Octavia."

She bit down on his ear and he half groaned, half chuckled.

"I really need to get you back. Your brother will -"

Her lips found his. "My brother's a dick. We know this. Whether he found you alone or with me, he'd want to kill you."

Her mouth explored and her tongue flicked across his nipple. Octavia felt him shudder.

"Yes. But I think we can both agree…" he gasped when she blew lightly across his skin, "that if he knew what I was doing to his baby sister right now, he might burn me at the stake." His hands fisted in her hair.

"Firstly, right now, his baby sister's the one _doing_." She kissed him hard, a wicked grin on her face as her hands travelled lower. "Secondly, I agree. I have to get back soon. Sooo… do you really want to spend our last moments together talking about my brother? Besides," she continued, "I _really_ want to kiss every one of your sexy tattoos."

He groaned, his hands tangling in her hair as he dragged her mouth to his.

 

**THE END**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: This story was always meant to be a sort of bridge detailing a little of the beginning of their love affair. I hadn't planned on writing a long multi-chapter because I don't really have the time. This seemed to be a good compromise.
> 
> For those who asked, I write when inspiration strikes. So if it does, I might write more for these two. If not, then for now, this is it.
> 
> Thank you for reading and reviewing. x


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